24 Hours of Christmas
by HexShadow
Summary: "We are like butterflies who flutter for a day and think it's forever." –Carl Sagan. I hated Christmas with a passion. He loved it with all his heart. It may be our only difference. I was even tempted to tell him I'm Jewish so he'd leave me alone about it. If only my parents weren't such babble mouths. Fluff! :)


**I decided to write something fluffy. This fanfic won in John Green Philippines' fanfic contest. YAY! :) Enjoooooy!**

"_We are like butterflies who flutter for a day and think it's forever." –Carl Sagan._

I was not really a big fan of Christmas. My prior holidays were spent inside my room, wallowing in self-pity because I didn't know if I'd die tomorrow, at Christmas, to torture my family, or after Christmas, if someone from above pitied me, or the next day, when the festivities were over and it's okay to be sad again. Christmas was a jovial event and for your information, another side effect of dying was the lack of enthusiasm for such occasions.

However, this year, someone managed to creep into my ice-cold heart which was keeping Christmas away from my system. People might probably know him as Augustus Waters. He has osteosarcoma resulting to an amputated leg. He was that guy from Support Group who was dragged in to it by a blind guy named Isaac. Part-cancer boy, part-hottie. We have grown closer over the months, mostly because we shared the same passion for books and reading.

Gus, according to Isaac, was desperate for Christmas. The latter said that as soon as the former heard the carols, or saw the lights, or even smelled the gingerbread baking, his whole face would light up and if he had no amputated parts in his lower part of the body, he might have been jumping up and down in excitement.

So obviously, there was a conflict between us. I hated Christmas with a passion. He loved it with all his heart. It may be our only difference. I was even tempted to tell him I'm Jewish so he'd leave me alone about it. If only my parents weren't such babble mouths.

HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY HATE CHRISTMAS?

Gus texted me halfway through December. (Later on he explained that all caps were necessary. It was an expression of extreme bafflement.)

I just do.

He didn't seem satisfied with my answer but let it go at that time. Yet since then, he started to pester me and tried to get me in to the spirit.

"Oh come on, Hazel Grace. It's the best gingerbread men in town. Just a bite!" he stated while pushing a gingerbread cookie to my mouth. I shook my head continuously.

"I don't like gingerbread!"

Just like last time, he let it go fast.

But as Christmas approached, he slowly became more persistent. He practically forced himself in our family-only Christmas Eve and my parents graciously let him in for the night. I bet he could feel my glares on him but he paid no heed. He told Christmas jokes which my father hysterically laughed at, he charmed his way through Christmas dinner with my mother's face red with too much blush, and he even told stories of his many Christmases in his seventeen years of existence. The magic of Augustus Waters was undeniable.

* * *

Midnight struck and Gus approached me on the couch I was so fond of, faced in front of the fireplace. He handed me a silver-wrapped box with a green bow. A present.

"What—" Instantly, I felt terribly guilty. I've never shopped for Christmas presents before. I've always bought my parents gifts but I've never wrapped them so lavishly. Unlike this. He seemed to have put on an effort. While I did not have anything to give him.

"Just…open it," he insisted quite impatiently.

With a last curious glance at him, I languidly peeled off the wrapper along with the bow. Inside was a plain white shoebox. I turned to Gus with an inquisitive look but he just raised an eyebrow and gestured for me to open it.

I lifted the lid and I nearly gasped. It was a pair of shoes. A lovely pair of doll shoes, in fact, nestled in pieces of pink Japanese paper. I've never owned doll shoes. "Wow," I breathed, amazed. It was a pair of simple yet sophisticated blood-red shoes. It was amazing. I looked up at him and he was smiling that crooked smile I've grown to love. "T-Thank you."

"There's more," he whispered. Leaning in, he removed the Japanese paper to reveal a small piece of paper taped to the bottom of the box. In his unique scrawl the note read, '_This entitles you to a 24 hour Christmas like you've never had before. (With me, of course)_'. It even had a sneaky wink face at the bottom.

With both of my brows furrowed I asked him, "What does this mean?"

He just wordlessly grabbed my hand and led me outside. He must have informed my parents about this since they waved at us as we grabbed our coats to battle the snow. He turned to me when we reached the sidewalk. "Today, we're going to pretend that we are not teenagers with cancer. Today, we're just going to be an ordinary couple celebrating Christmas."

Despite my protests, he just grasped my hand as tight as he could in his clammy ones and led me to the unknowingly best twenty-four hours of my life.

* * *

We did not have a wink of sleep since midnight, when Christmas arrived. We might have had a run-in with Santa as he rushed off from house to house to leave presents on everybody's tree. But we wouldn't notice because we're having the best time of our lives.

Yes, I admit. I was having fun. For the first time in a very long time.

We went to the carnival which was still alive even at an unholy hour. It was filled with lights and music and food and games. We rode the Ferris wheel (Gus had his eyes closed. He said he's afraid of heights. I called him a chicken and shook the cart we're in. He screamed.). We played Dart-the-Balloon game (which Gus took the liberty of excelling and collecting all of the great prizes.). We kicked some ass in Shooting-the-Duck (We made a great team. For two cancer patients, we both surely had great eyes for target shooting.). And we ate tons of hotdogs and cotton candy.

We were filling our stomachs with coffee as we watched the sunrise. Gus then offered me his back for a piggyback. I've never tried it. So even though I felt bad for his leg, I climbed onto his back and he managed about thirty steps (I was counting) when he put me down. I called him a weenie so he chased me around.

Noon came and we went to a nearby restaurant. The restaurant was packed but that didn't stop us because Gus boasted that he had our spot reserved for exactly noon today. We ate our lunch while laughing and nearly snorting our drinks out of our noses as we made up silly stories about the people inside the restaurant.

We strolled around town and I found him a gift at a nearby bookstore. It was a tearjerker novel but I did not tell him so he'd be surprised. I bet he'd have extreme feelings after reading it. Just like he did with Van Houten's.

Not once did I notice that I was sporting a cannula on my nose and pulling a cart bearing my oxygen tank behind me or that my companion had an amputated leg.

* * *

It was quarter to nine in the evening when he nudged me as we sat by a deserted waiting shed dusted with snow.

"Why aren't you hyped up for Christmas like a normal person?" he asked noncommittally, although his eyes sparked with interest and curiosity.

"Because I have stage four cancer," I bet I'd said that with a question mark at the end. It was like a 'Duh' moment.

He snorted. "Why would that be a problem? I love Christmas! Heck, even Isaac loves Christmas and he's blind!"

I chuckled because he'd started waving his hands out in weird gestures accompanying his statements. He thought my answer and my attitude was ludicrous. I sighed and looked up at the dark sky dotted with a few stars. "Because I probably won't live for another one."

His laughing face fell. He sobered, albeit slightly.

"So…why? Why do you hate it? It's another reason to be happy."

I felt tears prick my eyes. I wiped them immediately with my mittens. "I am a grenade. I'd probably die soon so why bother?"

He was silent for a moment and that's too strange for a guy like Gus. "You know what? I once thought that when I die, I want to leave a piece of myself behind for everyone to remember me by," he quipped in a low tone, "I don't want to _just exist_. I want to _live_. For as long as I could. Who knows where I'll be next Christmas? Who knows if I'd still be alive? With my condition, I could probably die next month or next week or tomorrow or even later tonight. I want to be remembered. I want to be…loved. That's why I make sure there's a single time in my life where I'm just happy. Where the dreaded future doesn't exist. That's Christmas for me."

I looked over at the guy beside me and my heart broke. His face was tear-streaked but his eyes…his eyes were alight with happiness. And his smile…it was like he has never smiled before.

But the moment was broken when something rattled above us and someone whispered, "Shit."

I turned around and saw someone standing on the third level of a wooden ladder leaning on the shed's roof. The shoes and the faded jeans reminded me of… "Isaac? Is that you?"

I heard Gus sigh beside me as the guy on the ladder nervously laughed. "Hi, Hazel. Merry Christmas."

"What are you doing up there?" was my baffled question. Blind guys shouldn't go climbing up ladders.

"You ruined it, Isaac. If I don't think it unfair to accost a blind man at his weakest, even if he's my friend, I'd probably pulled that ladder beneath your feet," Gus muttered in irritation. When he saw my inquisitive glance, he threw me a furtive grin, "You better appreciate this, Hazel Grace. You don't know how hard it is to have a blind guy as an accomplice for a surprise."

"Hey," Isaac quipped from above. He then impatiently shook the stick with a sprig of mistletoe hanging at the end. We were beneath it. Oh. "So? Kiss already. So I can finally put this down."

As Gus leaned in with a cocky smile, I put a finger to his lips (it tingled) and turned to Isaac, "How do you know we haven't kissed yet?"

I swear I heard Isaac smirk. "I haven't heard kissy noises. Now pucker up and kiss already. My arm's gone numb."

My eyes found its home back in Gus' eyes, no matter how cheesy that sounded. He still had that cocky smile on as he leaned closer to rub his nose against mine. "Merry Christmas, Hazel Grace."

I swore I'd probably vomit a butterfly any minute now because I had to eject some from my stomach. I answered his smile with one of my own and replied, "Merry Christmas, Gus."

And as our lips met halfway, I realized that maybe Christmas wasn't bad after all. It was magical, even. I have lived almost all of my life in darkness and today, the best twenty-four hours of my life, was the tiny light of hope.

If I live through another Christmas, I hope I'd get to spend it with Gus.

* * *

"Hey, guys? Are you finished making out? Can I put this down now? Gus? Hazel? GUYS?"


End file.
